


so tentative in your confession

by slyther_ing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adrian's into phantom of the opera dont ask me why, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Halloween, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Misunderstandings, and the aftermath, flintwood as domestic well meaning friends who give shitty advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 18:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8543773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slyther_ing/pseuds/slyther_ing
Summary: Adrian kisses Terence without knowing it's Terence, and then everything goes to shit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> After putting Adrian and Terence in so many of my Flintwood fics, I needed to write something that was solely for them (okay, I couldn't resist throwing Marcus and Oliver in, but still.)
> 
> This was inspired by a prompt from a sweet anon on Tumblr: “we’re in costume and i know exactly who you are but pretend i don’t so i have an excuse to make out with you just once”

The Malfoys always, always, throw a masquerade ball on the eve of Halloween. It’s tradition to use Glamours and charms and every little thing to turn yourself into something else, some _body_ else. Polyjuice, if you’re willing to risk it, has it’s benefits.

Terence has a steady hand for potions, but he’s not that tricky, and not really into borrowing somebody else’s body - so he’s got his glamours in place, elongated canines, sharper cheekbones, a thinner mouth. Made his eyes murkier, changed his tell-tale dirty blond hair to a deep auburn.

Flint had done a double take when he’d dropped in to pay a visit, and whistled low. “Nice wandwork,” Marcus had murmured, so Terence _knows_ nobody he knows will recognize him. The high collar of his costume around hides an old quidditch scar on his collarbone, and anyways, nobody besides his closest friends would know about _that_.

 

(“I’m not going,” Terence mumbles, mouthful of food getting in the way of clear words.

Adrian stops scouring about his kitchen. “What do you mean?”

“Not going to the Malfoy’s this year.”

“But we have costumes and drinks planned and _everything_ ,” Adrian protests, dropping down in the seat across from him. “How can you just not go?”

Terence graces him with a shrug, stirs his soup. “Not feeling it, really.”

The look Adrian fixes him with is indistinguishable, but then his best friend sighs and whisks his coat on without another word.)

 

Terence grabs a goblet of pumpkin juice, mills around and hands out compliments to some of the better costumes - no use in being glib, as nobody can tell who he is.

The night goes by uneventfully, for the most part. The Malfoy’s have gotten their ballroom decorated to the nines, and it always surprises him how Narcissa Malfoy can manage to make the usually gloomy Manor cheerful. Appearances for appearances sake.

An older man leers at him as he passes, and Terence walks away quickly - he’s never been one for large social gatherings, and apparently even without his usual features, he attracts the creepy attention.

Terence has half a mind to leave - he usually enjoys these things, able to make himself comfortable in large pureblood gatherings, but it’s really much harder without Adrian by his side. He’d come because Adrian was right - he had the costume on hand. Had the proper preparations, and it’s Halloween, so it’s _fun_. The only not fun part, usually, is seeing Adrian flirting with the first pretty girl he can find every year - Terence had cut out that bit this year, but it didn’t seem to be working.

Even without the inevitable Adrian ditching him to snog some random person in the corner, Terence isn’t feeling the party.

Just as he’s about to wade through the crowd and excuse himself from a well-meaning Mrs. Bulstrode, he bumps into someone. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” and the voice is far too familiar - did Adrian really do nothing to even disguise his _voice_?

Terence glances over the speaker’s face and _honestly._ Adrian only has a half mask on - rendition of the Phantom from that Muggle film, not that anybody else here would know. Terence can recognize Adrian’s cheekbones and hazel eyes as clear as day.

He always was a little vain about his appearances. Terence snorts.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before?” Adrian says, moving a bit closer as Pansy Parkinson tugs a giggling Daphne Greengrass after Blaise Zabini.

“Well, it’s a costume party,” Terence says, “Maybe you have.”

He’s not sure why it comes out flirtatious - could be that hiding behind a fake voice and face is giving him a boost of confidence.

“I think I’d remember.” Adrian smiles, and his eyelids shift just a bit lower. Terence jolts - Adrian is _flirting_. He’s suddenly on the inside, no longer just watching the flirtations.

He’d known Adrian hooked up with wizards, once in awhile - had heard enough stories about it on their bar nights that he knows Adrian swings either way. But the low charm in Adrian’s voice isn’t anything that Terence has seen in action before, the man presenting himself differently than the sweet coyness he usually applies to the witches at these parties.

“I don’t seem to know _you_.” Terence shoots back, uncharacteristically brazen.

Adrian’s laugh is rich and warm, overly confident, and Terence feels dizzy. It’s wrong, him doing this, practically tricking Adrian into this but. But.

But the chance dangles, golden, in front of him. Tempting - the pure interest in Adrian’s voice is something Terence has never heard before, and he knows that if he doesn’t grasp this opportunity, then it’ll never happen again.

Adrian moves his hand smoothly to the back of Terence’s back. “It’s pretty crowded in here - how ‘bout we go somewhere a bit quieter?”

Fuck.

Terence has half a mind to just tell Adrian right now, tell him that it’s _him_ , and Adrian would be embarrassed, sure, but no harm done.

But Adrian is smiling down at him, a little nervously, and it’s everything Terence has ever wanted, right there. He nods, and follows Adrian out of the room.

“I hope that wasn’t too forward,” Adrian says, once they’re sitting in an empty parlor room, fiddling with his shirt. “But you were far more interesting than anybody else in that room.”

“I’m flattered.” Terence replies, and he wonders if Adrian would still feel that way if he were just Terence right now.

They chat for a bit and the lies are falling too easily from Terence’s mouth - so as Adrian scoots a bit closer, eyes dropping down to his lips, he draws himself up and presses closer.

He screws his eyes shut - and that’s that. He’s kissing Adrian. It’s less fireworks, less sparks and bursts of stars in his stomach. It’s too familiar, almost, the way their lips slot together. Somehow it makes his chest ache, but Terence pushes it aside because he’s not going to let his own emotions get in the way.

“Ah,” Adrian says when they part, “Here’s the fun part.”

“You do this often?” Terence asks, Adrian’s lips already brushing against his mouth again.

He feels Adrian’s chuckle under the hand he has placed on his chest. “S’not much to do when your best mate ditches you all the time at this bloody event.”

It sounds weirdly bitter, but Terence attributes that to his own hazy mind.

Terence almost wants to respond with a “You ditch _me_ ” but that’d be blowing his cover. Instead, he kisses Adrian again, relishing the way Adrian is sucking lightly on his bottom lip. He loses himself to the feeling, the slight nips of teeth and the firm way Adrian is cradling his jaw in his hands.

And when Adrian’s mouth moves lower, sucks at his pulse point, Terence lets him - he’s too far gone at this point to go back, has already crossed the line.

Adrian moves to get rid of the costumes they’re still in, fingers slipping over the knots at Terence’s neck. He curses, bites his bottom lip, and there’s almost a manic way Adrian is trying to get them open, a gleam in his eyes that says desperate in a way that’s not about passion.

“Hey,” Terence says, hand stopping the half-urgent tugs at his shirt. “Might not be my place, but - you seem a little bothered.”

Adrian fixes him with a weird look, and Terence would too, if he were the one getting questioned by some random hookup. “It’s nothing. Just the ties.”

But it’s something, because Terence knows how to read Adrian, has read his palm a million times in Divination.

“C’mon - I’m not heartless,” Terence tries, mouth quirking up into a half smile. “I care about how you feel, even if this _is_ a one-time type of thing.”

Adrian lets his hands fall to his side, takes a step back. Stares at his shoes and Terence resists the urge to clap him on the back, pull him into a hug - something he’d do without question if he were Terence right now, instead of some random wizard Adrian met at the party.

“I don’t know,” Adrian says quietly, “I’m just trying not to think about something right now. To be frank, you’re not the type of person I usually wind up with-”

“What’s the type?” Terence asks, hasty not to hear what Adrian has to say next.

Adrian’s smile is rueful, and Terence knows him well enough to realize it’s a little sad. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, I’m being so rude-”

“I’m not offended,” Terence murmurs, offers a smile of encouragement. He’s curious and this, this might be the only time he’ll find out. “I mean, I’m still down if you are.”

Adrian stares at his hands, seemingly at a loss. “Yeah.”

A pause before Adrian speaks again. “Blonds, normally,” Adrian starts, slow, “That’s who I usually wind up spending the night with. Blue-eyed. Something I want but can’t get outside of this.”

His chuckle drowns out the choking noise Terence makes, because Adrian can’t _mean_ -

“It’s pointless, anyways,” Adrian shakes his head, goes back to tugging at the ties of Terence’s collar, “They’re just flings.”

He runs a hand over his hair, tugs off the mask and places it haphazardly on the seat next to him. “And what am I doing? Sorry,” Adrian flashes him a well-managed smile, “I definitely still want this.”

Terence wants to shake Adrian by the shoulders, tell him that anyone would be lucky to have him, that if he’s talking about _Terence_ , then, then -

But Adrian captures his mouth for another kiss, warms the buzzing in Terence’s chest, and he bites back the confession.

Adrian finally frees the last knot, and pulls Terence’s shirt open, lips moving down from Terence’s mouth, to chin, to jaw. Trails them over his neck, sucking deliciously, and Terence feels his eyes flutter closed until he’s suddenly left cold.

“Wha?”

Adrian’s shoved himself back roughly, eyes wide and unbelieving. Staring at Terence as if he’s seen a ghost and Terence doesn’t realize why until - oh.The cool air of the chamber brushes against his collarbone, and he looks down, eyes falling on where Adrian’s gaze is trained on his scar.

Shit.

“You - you’re fucking kidding me,” Adrian breathes, harsh. His jaw jumps, mouth twitches.

Terence pulls the shirt collar closed, but the damage is done. “Ade-”

“Fuck. Fuck, no, no you bastard, you motherfu-” Adrian backs away, running his hand haphazardly through his hair and Terence panics, because Adrian is angry, and cold, and _hurt_.

Terence tries to step closer, but it only drives Adrian further. “Adrian, I can explain-”

“Don’t,” is all Adrian chokes out before turning on his heel and running out of the room, steps fading as they move farther and farther away.

*******

He doesn’t see Adrian for two weeks.

Not for lack of trying. Terence stamps his feet in an attempt to keep warm outside Adrian’s flat but the man never opens his door, and he concedes defeat after an hour. His owls are all sent back, and Adrian doesn’t have a fireplace, so Floo is out of the question. Terence tries to get past the secretary at Adrian’s office, but Adrian must already have a pretty good reputation, because even with all his charm, Terence can’t manage to wheedle his way in.

He tries a second time, brings little cakes, and is met with the same refusal.

But Terence is getting desperate - doesn’t want their friendship of years to fall apart because he made a stupid mistake and he needs to tell Adrian, tell Adrian that he hadn’t been there to make fun of him. Tell Adrian that he’d _wanted_. That he’s always wanted, as far as he can remember.

His desperation must show in his face the third time he shows up, because the secretary looks at him and sighs instead of snapping at him.

“Look,” she says, pointing her fingers, “All I know is that he’s devastated and apparently you’re the one who fucked him up that way. I’m not going to let you in, but maybe some flowers or gifts or an outright apology would be better.”

“I’ve tried,” Terence says, remembering the rotting bundle of flowers he should’ve taken out yesterday, “But he won’t give me the chance.”

The secretary sighs again. “I can’t let you in - but maybe pull some strings and arrange something else where you can talk to him, face to face.”

Terence nods his understanding, retreats with his tail between his legs and goes to find Flint, because that’s the only one of his mates that Adrian would’ve went to. It’s not like Montague or Warrington would be any help with these matters.

Wood opens the door when he rings, blinks at him for a moment, before calling over his shoulder for Marcus.

“He’s in the shower right now.” Wood informs him, as he gestures for Terence to settle on the couch and goes off to make some tea.

Terence realizes why he’s been avoiding Flint’s place when he looks around. It’s put together, matching furniture set - photos on the mantelpiece of Marcus and Oliver, together in various places. There’s a set of Quidditch books laid out on the table in front of two chairs, notes strewn next to it, and he can just picture it in his mind’s eye - the pair settled there, working together, a regular scene in their life.

It’s comfortable. Domestic. It’s what Terence wants but can’t have.

Marcus strides into the living room, hair still wet, with a small beagle yapping at his heels. “Took you bloody long enough.”

Terence looks up from his hands. “He came then?”

“Sure,” Flint grumbles, “Stormed in when I thought you two were at the party. Ranted something about you and costumes and mistakes. Was pretty torn up.”

“I didn’t _mean_ to hurt him.” Terence pleads.

“No,” Marcus concedes, “But you did.”

Wood trudges back in then, two mugs of tea steaming in his hands. He hands one off to Marcus, sets the other down in front of Terence. “Sort this shit out, mate. Marcus, I’m heading out for groceries.”

Flint nods, accepts a kiss to the cheek, and waits for Terence to speak, busying himself with scratching the beagle behind the ears. When Terence doesn’t say anything for a good amount of time, he prods, “So what happened, anyways?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Pucey wasn’t making much coherent sense, when he came round.”

“I - we -” Terence stammers, unsure of how to phrase things.

Marcus just waits. Fucking hell - the one time he needs Flint to yell at him, and he won’t.

So Terence spills everything out in a rush. Talks about how every year, he watches Adrian flirt and disappear while he’s talking to someone else, how he’d wanted to have _his_ fun this year - how weird Adrian had gotten when Terence had canceled, and then everything that had happened at the Malfoy’s.

Adrian’s odd comments, his sad little smile. How much Terence had _wanted._ How shitty he feels right now, and how ninety percent of that is because he’d _hurt_ Adrian while he was caught up in his own head.

Flint stares at him for a good long while once Terence has run out of things to say. The tea’s gone cold by the time Terence goes to drink it, but he sips it all the same.

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Marcus says once Terence has finished his tea.

Terence frowns. “Weren’t you listening?”

“All I heard was two best friends being idiots about their feelings.” Marcus snorts.

“What?” Terence splutters, “I practically _tricked_ him into - he’s upset because-”

“He’s upset because he basically admitted to being in love with you without knowing it was you,” Marcus cuts him off, “And maybe a little bit the fact that you didn’t fess up to being in disguise.” He adds as an afterthought.

Terence reels at Flint’s bluntness. “What do you mean - in _love_?”

“Merlin,” Marcus sighs, “How dumb can you two _get_. Look, Oliver’s better at this shit. Stay for dinner.”

And the tone that Flint says it in, Terence knows, means that dinner isn’t a suggestion.

*******

He’s not sure what’s worse, really - sitting alone in his apartment eating leftovers, or having to watch Flint and Wood be all lovey-dovey over dinner. Terence appraises the pasta in front of him - the food wins out, but only by a small margin.

“How’s the season, Wood?” Terence asks politely, while Marcus is off letting the dog out.

Oliver rolls his eyes. “Alright, Higgs, we both know you’re not here just so we can exchange niceties. So,” he sets down his knife and fork, “Pucey.”

“Pucey.” Terence sighs.

“He’s in love with you, you know.”

“Yeah,” Terence mumbles, “I don’t seem to see what you lot are seeing.”

Oliver cocks his head. “He practically said as much at the party, from what you said. Which begs the question of why you haven’t fessed up yourself.”

“It’s not that easy!” Terence cries, every emotion in him boiling over - he’s scared, of Adrian’s rejection, always has been. Scared of what’ll happen if things don’t work out, scared of how much things are going to end up changing - _have_ changed since Halloween.

Adrian’s only said as much, but it’s not like Terence can feel it. Adrian treats him like Terence, and nothing more.

“You’re talking to someone who used to get into fist-fights with their partner,” Oliver deadpans, looking unimpressed. “Who sometimes _still_ gets into fist-fights.”

“Really?” Terence asks, because Marcus had kissed the top of Oliver’s head in a way that was far too soft just moments before.

“Well, for fun,” Oliver admits. “But you and Pucey - c’mon, Higgs, you’re best mates! That should make it easier!”

“But when it goes wrong, it’ll be hell.” Terence sighs, running a weary hand across his brow. He doesn’t know what Adrian thinks of him now - pretty sure that tricking your friend into hooking up isn’t something that would keep him high in Adrian’s regard.

“Look, he was so devastated, that has to count for something.” Wood nudges Terence’s shoulder with his. “Just keep banging on his door until he gets annoyed - that’s what Marcus does whenever I give him the cold shoulder.”

*******

Terence doesn’t get better advice, though, so he does wind up knocking on Adrian’s door for twenty minutes straight, until the door slams open and he’s met with a glaring Adrian Pucey, bedraggled and still in his pajamas.

“It’s six in the morning.” Adrian says coldly, trying to bar Terence from entering his flat.

“Blame Flint.” Terence responds, squeezing past Adrian’s stubborn body.

A muttered “I will” trails after Terence, but he sits himself down on the couch anyways. Adrian just continues to stand, arms crossed and trying to look intimidating, but the bedhead and the pajama pants really don’t help him with that endeavor.

When Terence gestures for Adrian to sit, the man sighs, and plops down opposite Terence, seemingly trying to be as far away as possible. It hurts - to see Adrian being so purposefully distant, but Terence has gotten this far. He might as well see it through to the end.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, “I’m so goddamn sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?” Adrian’s voice is still icy.

Terence swallows, licks his lips. “Shouldn’t have - tricked you. When you started flirting, I should’ve, should’ve fessed up. Immediately.”

“Yeah,” Adrian says, face sullen and his crossed arms are defiant, albeit unnatural. “You should’ve. Why didn’t you?”

And it’s there - the perfect chance to explain himself, to tell Adrian everything. How when they were back at Hogwarts, Terence would get distracted watching the little doodles Adrian drew in the margin of his notes. How he’s memorized the way Adrian smiles, a slow uptick on the left side first and then a full white bloom of a grin.

But his words fall short, and Terence opens his mouth only for nothing to come out. Adrian stares back at him for a moment, then lets his arms fall to his side.

“Forget it,” he mumbles, voice barely above a murmur, “Let’s just forget what happened.”

“What do you mean?”

And Adrian’s following laugh is humorless, makes Terence take a closer look at the bags under his eyes and the sharper cut of his jawline and the way Adrian looks lost - as if he’s just as on uneven footing as Terence is.

Terence thinks maybe he gets what Flint was getting at, now.

“Forget about what I said at the party. It wasn’t what you thought.” But the note of desperation that’s in Adrian voice, buried beneath the shaky, attempted laugh, is enough to throw Terence’s doubts into the remaining hot embers in the fireplace.

He acts - on impulse, a rare moment that he could probably count on one hand - and by the time Adrian’s eyes are widening in surprise, Terence has tugged him in by the collar of his shirt and sealed their mouths together. He feels Adrian’s sharp inhalation against his lips and he buries his fears, presses their bodies closer and when Adrian responds, tentative, Terence feels the longing crumble in his chest.

Adrian relaxes in his grip, and his hands go up to frame Terence’s face, soft and careful. “Is this - is this your response? To what I said?”

“It’s the best I can do for now,” Terence forces a smile, leans back to look at Adrian and the clear eyes that stare back at him are so familiar, so hopeful in their clarity that he almost admits that he thinks he’s loved Adrian for ages, for as long as he can remember. Ever since that first drunken kiss one night in their fifth year dorm, floating on firewhiskey, and how he wished that they’d talked about it instead of skirting around like the scared teenagers they were. “But I mean it.”

Adrian kisses him fully then, tilts his head back, drags his tongue over his bottom lip and it’s intimate - so intimate in the the way they fit together like they always have. Adrian’s hands against his cheek as easy a fit as the arm slung over his shoulder after their first quidditch game.

“Ter,” Adrian whispers, and it’s a question wrapped in his nickname - _Terence, are we doing this, Terence, why didn’t you tell me sooner, Terence, is this what you want, Terence_ -

“Yes.” Terence replies, and hopes that that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Find me at mxrcusflint on Tumblr, where I'm constantly willing to yell about Flintwood and co.


End file.
